Room for God's Wrath
by Xaydin
Summary: Sequel to The Wrath of God remains. Six years after Penelope returns to Joshua Graham, daughter in tow, she finds herself wondering if such a peaceful life in New Canaan is truly what she was made for. When the unthinkable happens, she finds herself torn between the life she thought she wanted and the one the Courier had. M for violence and language. Post-game. Hiatus til 2019.
1. Chapter 1

_Proverbs 1:8_

 _Listen, my son, to your father's instruction and do not forsake your mother's teaching._

* * *

Before the sky rained down bombs… before the NCR and the Legion locked horns over the Hoover Dam… before a man was thrown from a cliff, covered in burning pitch… before a courier was pulled from a shallow grave, half alive and with a bullet in her head…

There was a place called Ogden.

It had existed, as all Pre-War places had, in uneasy peace with the threat of nuclear war dangling over its head. And when the bombs fell, it was ruined – but not left alone. In time, after Vault 70 opened, a predominantly religious group following the teachings of the Church of Latter Day Saints built a new town upon its ruins: New Canaan.

It stood, fifteen miles from the Great Salt Lake, lined by high mountains, and its inhabitants enjoyed the fruits of their labor as they worked the land and worked together to grow their community. Things were peaceful for a while. And then, Joshua Graham returned.

They accepted him back into the fold, but it would not last. Caesar, angered by the Malpais Legate's survival, sent a band of White Legs, tribals of the Great Salt Lake, to burn the city to the ground, to destroy and pillage and murder, to give into and grow the darkness that lingers in the corners every man's heart. The earth was salted, destroying the careful fertility nurtured and grown by the people of New Canaan.

Only thirty survived; Joshua went to claim his vengeance as the war chief of the Dead Horses in Zion, battling the White Legs with a thirst in his heart that could not be quenched by the blood he spilled.

And then she came.

She stood with her back to the rebuilt New Canaan, staring out at the wide expanse of prairie with her hat pulled low over her eyes. Squinting, her eyes crinkled with age and laughter, she scanned the horizon for any sign of movement, any stir that would alert her to the return of the hunters – and therein her husband.

She thought back to her time in the canyons of Zion, the cool waters and clean air that was so different from the muck of New Vegas. She closed her eyes and remembered: climbing the trails and sloshing through the shaded pools; how her heart beat at the sight of Joshua, wrapped in his gauze; the smiles of her friends; the feeling of bighorner blankets on bare skin, sweat cooling in the air of the cave… Her eyes opened. The memory had surfaced to the front of her thoughts, unbidden, and a flush spread across her cheeks.

They had survived, Penelope and Joshua, and he had come back to the survivors of New Canaan, eager to help them rebuild, his heart healed by mercy over blood. Penelope had done all she could to help the Dead Horses and the Sorrows and the New Canaanites she had never met, but ultimately, she had to leave Zion to return to her duties in New Vegas.

But she returned, and with his daughter in tow. She and Joshua were married, and she settled down, eager to leave the life of violence and destruction she had unwittingly architected, a life she hadn't asked for but had taken the mantle, willing or no.

Absentmindedly, she touched the scar on her forehead.

"Mama?"

Penelope turned, her long braid flipping over to the side. Sol was standing a few feet away from the house, carrying her baby sister on her tiny hip. Penelope smiled to herself and walked over to her children. Hefting her youngest from Sol's grasp, she stroked the older girl's black hair, hot from the sunlight.

"Solomon Zillah Graham, what are you up to?"

"I was trying to find you," the nine-year-old said, and dimpled. Her blue-green eyes glittered in the afternoon sun. "Mrs. Jane's here with Tommy and says he's got an awful bad stomachache."

"Perhaps Tommy should keep his hand out of the sugar jar," Penelope said with some amusement before looking at the blonde toddler in her arm. "What do you think, Dinah?"

The child nodded, sucking on her fingers as she blinked sleepily. Penelope smiled and readjusted her grip on the child. She cast one last glance at the prairie stretching beyond the horizon, her heart aching suddenly, before turning back to the house.

. . .

"He'll be fine, Mrs. Lopez – it's just a bit of a tummy ache from too much sugar." Penelope smiled, hanging up her stethoscope on its designated wall hook. "A little chamomile or peppermint tea should speed it along. But, in the future, perhaps put the treats a little further from his reach to try and avoid this again."

The young woman nodded, twisting her handkerchief in her hands. "How much?" she asked nervously.

Poor woman – Tommy was her first and only child. If anything were to happen to him, she would be an absolute wreck. Penelope waved her hand. "As it's such a small thing, don't worry about it." She smiled. "Though I suppose the next time George is in town from his travels, ask if he's got any more of that radstag jerky. Joshua loves it."

The bell tinkled as they left, young Tommy still sniffling from his aching stomach. Penelope let out a long sigh and leaned against the counter of the clinic, removing her gloves and tossing them into a bin. She closed her eyes and emptied her mind.

The afternoon heat stilled the town, and the room she stood in was quiet, and empty. In the corner, Dinah was curled up in a padded play pen, drooling as she named. The lazy hum of the crude, generator powered ceiling fan stirred the air against her face and she let herself fall into the void of her thoughts.

Her father had taught it to her, when she was learning medicine in the Boneyard. At fourteen, someone had brought in a farmer, his leg destroyed by a tiller, and they had to amputate. She had thrown up until she was just dry heaving, her eyes streaming tears and mouth full of bile.

"You have to clear your mind," her father had told her as he held back her hair. "Don't give credence to what you're seeing. See the problem, not the cause, and address the problem."

It became easy to call the void when she was in his clinic. Eventually, the void got called in stressful situations – when she had fought at Hoover Dam, when she had met Ulysses at the end of the Divide, when she had killed Caesar, when she had found herself at the end of Benny's pistol. The bullet was the only thing that had been able to tear through the void, a blinding white pain that ripped through the darkness.

Now she did it to escape.

Guilt gnawed at the emptiness. Why should she try to escape? Two healthy children who she loved dearly, the man she loved, a peaceful town where she made a difference. And yet…

The Mojave had been her adventure. More often than not, terrifying, but that fear had somehow been exhilarating, too. She had done so much in her five years after being dug up, but now… now life seemed the same, every day.

She opened her eyes as the sound of murmurs and conversation grew outside, muffled by the glass windows of the clinic. The hunters had returned. Penelope walked to the window and opened it, leaning on the sill.

Down the road, the group meandered, a cart pulled by Brahmin filled with gecko, coyote, and bighorner. A quarter of a man's kill would be kept for his family, but the rest would be given to the town butcher to sell. The economy of New Canaan only worked so long as there were things to buy; food was a great commodity. Services came next; laundry, healthcare, weapons cleaning. But there wasn't much of a call for that. Of course, the trader came to town every few weeks or so. Penelope smiled to herself. Rebuilding Happy Trails Caravan Company had fulfilled her in a way she hadn't expected.

As the hunters drew closer, she heard the front door open. Leaning further out the window, she saw Sol running down the road, black hair bouncing in a ponytail as she giggled. One of the hunters leaned down and scooped her up, tucking her under his bandaged arm. Penelope smiled wider, her shoulders lowering.

Joshua raised a gauze-wrapped hand towards his wife, who waved back before clasping her hands together. Behind her, she heard a shuffling and a sniffle – Dinah was awake. Straightening, she stretched and started to think about dinner, all thoughts of the Mojave fading with the late afternoon heat.

. . .

Outside in the twilight, cicadas chirped a summer symphony. She sank further into the metal tub, eyes closed as she relished in the cool water. Hands massaged her shoulders, fingers dancing over the smattering of freckles and the scars from her past. She let out a small noise as they hit a particularly tight spot and they paused, momentarily, before a hand cupped her chin and brought her head up to a soft, warm kiss.

Penelope smiled through the kiss. The hands pulled away and dipped lower into the water; she broke away from him, eyes opening, and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, now – I only just got the girls to sleep."

Joshua laughed from his seat by the tub before kissing her on the forehead. His bright blue eyes danced in the candlelight, having unwrapped the bandages from his head. Penelope began to stand, and he gave her the towel that was resting on his lap.

"Did the girls behave today?" he asked, helping her towel off her back. She nodded as she wrung water out of her long hair, grimacing at the weight.

"Sol is doing well at school, though she's still having some trouble with numbers." She pulled a long shirt off of the dresser of the bedroom and pulled it over her head before wrapping her hair in the towel. "Dinah is doing Dinah things. Mrs. Lopez had another stomachache scare with Tommy, and Harry came in for more of that healing poultice." She gave him a smile. "Today was quiet."

He lowered himself onto their bed – a gift from the local carpenter for when she first arrived in New Canaan – and put his hands on her waist, drawing her close. He pressed his face in her stomach, and she rested a hand on his head. They were silent, save for the cicadas.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

Penelope broke from his hold to remove the towel from her head and grab the brush from the dresser. She sat down beside him and draped her hair over her shoulder as she began to brush.

"Yes."

"You hesitated," he said, reaching up to hold her hand. She stopped brushing, lowering the brush.

"I'm happy to be with you, and the girls," she said. "I'm happy to be helping New Canaan rebuild and grow."

She stopped, and looked out the window, the guilt threatening to resurface.

"It's hard," he said, "to let go of the violence of our past. You know what it did to me."

"Yes," she said, "but I'm not like you. I should be able to let go. My life wasn't built around war. Just…"

"More than this?"

She nodded ruefully.

He lifted her legs onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her. "We can try to make things better for you," he said, his voice soft in her ear. "You could go with the hunters next time – or with the traders to New Vegas? When was the last time you went?"

Penelope hesitated, resting her head on Joshua's shoulder. His scarred and ridged face looked toward the window, where the sky was quickly turning from lavender to black, stars scattered like dust.

"And if something were to happen to me?" she said. "Sol and Dinah would have no mother. The town would have no doctor."

"Nothing bad would happen to you," he said. "You have survived far worse than a caravan ride to New Vegas. The last time we had a casualty was before you even arrived here. And perhaps it would be best to see your friends again – they haven't even seen Dinah, and she's almost two."

Penelope pulled away to search Joshua's face. "Would _you_ be okay with it?" she asked.

"What I would be okay with," he said, "is for the love of my life to be happy. You are not a homemaker, despite your excellent dinners and wonderful parenting. You are an explorer and an adventurer who keeps a cool head, and who decided to settle with me, though the Lord knows I did not deserve it, repentant or no." He held her closer. "I want you to be happy, and if that means that I won't see you for a month or so out of the year, so be it."

She didn't break her gaze, but a smile crept over her face. "Alright then." She swept her legs so that she was straddling his lap and began to unbutton his shirt as she bent her head, lips brushing against his neck. He rested a hand on her waist, responding to her light kisses.

"We will talk about this…later," she murmured, and he smiled, lowering himself to the bed and submitting to the ministrations of his wife.

The next day, the letter arrived.


	2. Chapter 2

_John 8:34_

 _Jesus answered them, "Truly, truly, I say to you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin._

* * *

The box Joshua had brought up from the cellar was fairly nondescript, and about the size of a Pre-War microwave. It was carved from mesquite, with no decoration save for a small clasp that kept the top firmly shut. Penelope ran her hand over the reddish wood, displacing the dust that had settles of it smooth and veneered surface. She popped open the clasp and lifted the lid.

Inside, several sets of clothing, bloodied and worn and filled with the damned sand that seemed to infect everything – tank tops, t-shirts, and slacks, camo from her time in the NCR's Infantry Corps. She moved them aside, scattering a couple medals and patches. Useless nothings. Underneath the clothes lay what she had hid in hopes of leaving it behind. An M&A 9mm pistol with a damascened barrel and pearl grips, painted with the image of a woman, sheathed in a leather holster. A folded, holey straw hat. A few boxes of ammo. A dog collar. Some chems she wouldn't dare to stock in her clinic. A Pip-Boy.

She pulled the bulky tech out of the box, flicking on the power switch. The screen flickered, and she held her breath, before the cheery face of the Vault Boy appeared. Amber light illuminated her face as it booted up and before she had even registered what she was doing, the Pip-Boy was strapped to her wrist.

How strange it was to feel this weight on her wrist again. In the first few days of packing it away, she had felt naked without it, the skin underneath pale white compared to the suntanned skin surrounding it. Now it felt like coming home.

"Mama?"

Penelope lifted her head from staring at the Pip-Boy. Sol was leaning against the doorway, her dark hair haphazardly braided and reaching towards her waist. "Yes, sweet pea?"

"Daddy's trying to find you. Says that he has something for you." She wandered over to the table to peer at the Pip-Boy. "What's that?"

Penelope wrapped her arm around Sol as they both looked at it. "It's from when I was in New Vegas. It helps me keep track of where I am and how I'm feeling."

"Like a thermometer?"

She chuckled. "Kinda." Planting a kiss on her daughter's head, she placed the clothes back in the box and shut the lid. "Thanks for coming to get me, Sol."

The girl smiled brightly. "Can I have some honey and toast?"

"Just one piece, and only a little honey. Lunch is soon."

Penelope pushed the chair in and walked out the backdoor, past the small room where Dinah was napping. In the seats facing the great expanse of prairie, Joshua toyed with a small pocket knife, eyes trained on the horizon.

"Hello, dear." She kissed the top of his head over the bandages and he turned his face upwards to hers. His eyes flicked over to the Pip-Boy before meeting hers.

"Adjusting to it again?"

"Possibly." She turned the knob, flicking through the different screens. Health. Inventory. Map. Journal. "It would probably be best to have if I head back to New Vegas."

He straightened, rummaging around his pockets. "Speaking of." Pulling out a slightly dirty envelope, still sealed, he raised it to her. "A courier came by with this today."

Penelope's eyebrows raised, wrinkling the scar on her forehead. "A courier?" She looked down at it, reading her own name typed neatly on the surface.

"From New Vegas." He passed her the pocket knife and she sliced it open. She smiled, recognizing the looping handwriting of Arcade. Her heart suddenly ached as she remembered watching him write nonsense on a cocktail napkin at the bar of the Lucky 38, drunk on champagne and rum, talking about love lost and long ago regrets.

 _Penelope,_

 _You will need to forgive me for skipping the formalities. I know that you left the Mojave Wasteland behind, but it would appear that we need you once more._

 _Freeside is currently experiencing a crisis of missing children. Though normally we would try to inspect this ourselves, there have been sighting in the region of strangers, and one witness who describes a man skulking about with pale, sharp cheekbones, cropped hair, and mean eyes. Another, a slave once held by the Legion, names him: Vulpes Inculta._

"Fuck," she whispered, turned away from Joshua.

He rose from his chair, approaching her . "What is it?"

Penelope turned her head to him, the papers clenched in her hands. "Legion."

Joshua's bandages began to move as his face underneath them contorted. She saw the fire begin to burn in his eyes, and held up her hand. "Let me finish the letter."

 _We have reason to believe that, though the Legion is scattered, their slaving behaviors may not be. Normally, we would be more than happy to take care of this through the NCR, as our agreement with them is still in order. However – we have no concrete knowledge of their whereabouts or their numbers._

 _Boone, as our resident emotional idiot, has set out to root them out, despite Cass's best efforts. However, you know them better than anyone, and Vulpes, in particular._

 _I realize it's a lot to ask for you to come back into a life you tried to leave behind, and out of one that sounds so stable from your letters. It's not fair of me to try to pull you back into this, but we need you, Courier Six._

 _If you decide to help, come as soon as possible._

 _Your Friend,_

 _Arcade Gannon_

 _P.S. This was found in the home of one of the missing children. We're considering it proof._

She hefted the envelope and overturned it. A small object fell out of the envelope and into the palm of her hand. It glinted in the sunlight.

Joshua stared at it, his eyes burning.

"That's a Legion Denarius."

Penelope closed her fingers over it before pulling her arm back and lobbing it as hard as she could away from her. It flipped as it arced through the air, shining with each turn, before it fell to the ground, far, far away.

She breathed heavily, her shoulders rising and falling, still clenching the paper in her hand. "Fucking fuck. Fuck." She turned towards Joshua, whose eyes were trained where the Denarius had fallen. "Legion? In New Vegas?"

"May I see the letter?"

She passed the slightly crumpled paper to Joshua, who scanned it, his bandages moving as his eyebrows furrowed.

"Why does it say you know Vulpes better than anyone?"

"I hunted Legion with Boone after the Dam. They were scattered, and directionless, and what better way to ensure the survival of New Vegas than to remove the problem? Vulpes was, for lack of a better term, my prize buck, my one-in-a-million. I stalked him as best I could, before I met you." She rubbed her eyes, memories coming back unbidden. "I met him in Nipton, where he crucified an entire town. I don't know if they deserved it – I just know that he enjoyed it. Immensely."

Joshua nodded before folding up the letter and sliding it back into the envelope. "Will you go to do this, then?"

Penelope rubbed her forehead, fingers trailing over the puckered skin of her scar. "I don't know." She looked at him. "Would you come with?"

"To take out the Legion?" He hesitated. "I'm… I don't know." He sat down in the wooden chair and looked at his hands. "I've spent so long suffering under the anger and hate in my heart, and now that I'm free of it – I don't know if I can shoulder that burden again." He suddenly looked tired. "And I'm old. Deny it all you want but I am old, Penelope. I was old enough to be your father when we met. I'm not young enough to pick up and chase after the frumentarii, under Caesar or no."

Penelope sat beside him, rubbing his arm. They were quiet, listening to the wind rustle through the prairie grass.

"I will go," she said slowly. "You may stay if you want." She drew her hand away to turn the knob on the Pip-Boy to the map. "I want to take the girls with me."

Joshua snapped his head up. "Why on earth would you?"

"You were fine with it last night. In fact, you suggested it."

"That was before I knew what I do now. Two young girls accompanying you on a mission to wipe out legionnaires? And with children being kidnapped in Freeside?"

"We will not be in Freeside, we will be on the Strip. There is no place safer than that. If it's not Cass or Arcade or Raul or Lily, then Yes-Man and the many, many Securitrons will be the first line of defense against any Legion, frumentarii or no. And I'm certainly not taking them with me to find the Legion. Veronica or Lily would love the chance to babysit." She shrugged. "We'll travel with Happy Trails. It will be fine."

Joshua paused before sighing. "I don't like it, dear."

"I am _capable_ , Joshua, in case you've forgotten." She stood, anger sparking in her eyes. "I realize that you and many others think I have gone soft, playing homemaker in a town where nothing happens, but there are still people" – here she lifted the envelope and smacked it against her palm – "that still know what I am capable of."

"And what is that, Penelope? Murder? Revenge? Is that what you want to show our daughters?"

"I want to show them that there is more than just New Canaan." She turned her head away, anger suddenly sparking into tears. "The world might be brutal, but it's still beautiful in its own way. This _cannot_ be the only fragment of the world these girls know."

"And what is wrong with New Canaan?" His voice was soft. "It's everything we hoped and built it to be. You were an architect in its construction; would you deny it now?"

Penelope's shoulders tightened before slowly lowering. "Is there such a thing," she replied, "as too much peace?"

He sighed, passing a hand over his bandaged face. "Some days I fear your youth." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Go then," he said. "I hope these journeys will satiate your spirit. But this is the _only_ time that I will be so calm about you taking the girls until they are old enough to defend themselves."

Penelope brushed the heel of her palm over her eyes to dash out the tears that had threatened to spill over. "I can accept that."

From inside the house, Dinah began to cry, deep sobbing wails that drifted out into the yard. Penelope stood to make her way towards the house, but was stopped by Joshua's hand around her wrist.

"Don't think for a second that I would ever underestimate how capable you are." His blue eyes glinted in the sunlight like ice chips. "It was you who walked by me in Zion, and you who talked me down. You have performed some of the most difficult tasks I've ever known. Not for a single second do I think you incapable of anything."

She smiled, leaning down to kiss him, before she started back to the house.

. . .

Fireflies drifted lazily around the backyard. Sol giggled as she swiped at one with her little net and missed, the displaced air sending the insect spiraling. In the crook of Penelope's arm, Dinah slept with her thumb in her mouth, drooling on her mother's shirt.

It had been two days since the letter. The Happy Trails Caravan Company had arrived that morning and unloaded their stock. Penelope had made sure their Brahmin were taken care of, and that they were settled into the inn before returning home.

Joshua had cooked, long strips of Brahmin meat in a cast iron with a mess of onions and peppers, serving it outside to eat on a big blanket. Now he stood next to Sol with a jar, the top having been perforated with the blade of a can opener. Inside, several fireflies blinked, the unfortunate victims of Sol's insect net.

Upstairs, her supplies were ready: her old cloth from the Mojave, frequent patched and weather worn, had been upgraded to a coyote hide bag that was neatly stitched by the leatherworker in town, in payment for Penelope's treatment of an infected wound. The long barrel of her sniper rifle rose from it, and her sidearm, a .45 automatic pistol with snakeskin grips, was secured in a leather holster just waiting to be put on.

Joshua looked up from his duties. Penelope raised her unused arm, where the Pip-Boy was ringing a gentle, quiet, alarm. He looked back at his daughter, who had already donned a pleading expression.

"Please, Daddy? Just five more minutes."

He smiled at her, a motion which quirked the bandages over his mouth. "I'm afraid not, little one – you have a big day tomorrow. You will certainly need to sleep."

She pouted. "But – "

"Not today, Solomon." His tone was firm, with a shred of warning.

The dark-haired girl sighed, walking over to her mother to give her a kiss on the cheek. Joshua bent down to collect Dinah, who barely stirred.

"I'll be right back down," he whispered before straightening. Penelope nodded and leaned back to lay down on the blanket, closing her eyes. His footsteps faded away from her hearing. The night breeze brushed over her freckled cheeks, and she twisted a strand of hair around her finger.

"The eyes of the mighty Caesar are upon you," Vulpes whispered.

She bolted upright to a standing position, whipping around with fists at the ready. But no one was there – only the wide, wide prairie and the expanse of New Canaan behind her. Collapsing to her knees, she breathed deeply, heart hammering wildly in her chest.

The letter had triggered memories, all of them too real. Now, Vulpes haunted her, taunting her from beyond the Mojave. She had hoped he was dead, and still did. Perhaps the man those witnesses saw was simply an unfortunate who looked similar. But life is too short for coincidences, and Penelope wasn't interested in wasting time.

There were many reasons for Penelope to hate the Legion. Their unspeakable cruelty, first and foremost, had left a mark on her days after being unearthed in Goodsprings. She had always heard of the Legion from her time in the NCR, but she had never seen it for herself. But she would never forget Nipton, the groans and cries of those hanging from the crude crucifixions that the Legion had built. When Vulpes and their men had left, she had put a bullet in every single person hanging there. No one deserved to die that slowly. Save Caesar and his lackeys.

If it _was_ Vulpes in New Vegas…he was good as dead.

She turned her head as the sound of footsteps became louder. Her husband settled in beside her, laying on his back to look at the stars.

"I wanted to let you know," he said, "I've changed my mind about not going with you to the Mojave."

Penelope laid down onto her side, her eyes searching his. His fingers laced with hers.

"Are you certain?"

He nodded. "I decided I'm not alright with you doing this alone. Slavers must be stopped, Vulpes or no. If it is Legion, so be it, but I know them even better than you. I know Vulpes. If I didn't lend you my knowledge, or my assistance, I would be making a grave mistake."

Penelope smiled. "Well, I hope you're packed." She snuggled into the crook of his arm. "Because I'm not doing it for you."

His rumbling laugh carried out over the prairie.


End file.
